Aftermath
by Maz Kazama
Summary: Spoilers for the season 3 finale! Sam saved Dean from Hell but he can't save him from his memories. The aftermath is going to be a Hell of its own - for both of them. Dean!hurt Traumatised!Dean, Dean!whumping etc. etc. with an extra heaping of Sam!angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys,this is my second supernatural story (I'm going to finish Fitting the Pattern, I just had to get this out of my system). So there's going to be a lot of Dean!whumping, Sam!comforting etc and, in terms of warnings, probably violence, references to torture, bad language and probably other nasty stuff I forgot to mention (you know you love it really). Spoilers for, probably everything but most prominently the season finale. Erm, anything else? Oh yeah, this is gen. No Wincest to see here folks, move along.**

**Sorry that was so long but I didn't want to forget anything. Here's the (unbeta-ed) prologue.**

* * *

It took two days before Dean opened his eyes. Two days of Sam worrying he'd brought back some comatose, zombie-Dean and wondering if he'd ever see Dean's eyes again. Two days of Sam thinking that something, _anything_, would be better than this.

* * *

On the third day Sam realised he might have been wrong as Dean screamed and Sam thought he'd never stop. Throughout Sam's assurances that he was okay, that he was safe, that was back – Dean screamed. Even when Sam bundled him into the Impala and away from anxious motel staff and irritated guests he screamed. Parked in a lay-by on a deserted highway after gagging his own brother, Sam curled in the seat of his Impala, the radio turned on full blast and his hands clamped over his ears lie a child, Sam longed to go back to the second day.

* * *

Day four was a day where both brothers tried. Dean tried to scream though abused, vocal chords too exhausted to produce any sound and Sam tried to ignore his wide-eyed, open-mouthed, silently-screaming older brother. Just like he tired to pretend that he was happy because this was better than yesterday.

* * *

On day five Dean slept and Sam dozed when he could, snapping fitfully awake from his nightmare dreams into his nightmarish reality. But with his brother just lying there sleeping (admittedly far too pale and thin), if you ignored the stifled whimpers and barely concealed trembling, Sam could almost pretend things were normal.

* * *

Six days in, Sam realised just how far from normal they really were.

Dean wasn't screaming now, simply huddled, wide-eyed and frightened in the corner of the latest motel room while Sam, crouched down and moving slowly tried to ignore the fact that this was _Dean _he was dealing with.

"Dean, it's okay, it's me, it's _Sam_"

Dean just simply blinked at him, not a trace of recognition in his frightened gaze.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, but I gotta look at those wounds Dean." Sam moved a couple of tiny paces forward and pretended to ignore the way Dean tried to press himself into the wall. Dean's body had come back almost exactly the way it had been before the Hell hounds had ravaged it (Sam blanched at that memory) aside from a series of scratches down Dean's left arm which hadn't stopped bleeding since day one. Sam had bandaged them while Dean was comatose and then things had got all kinds of crazy and he hadn't had time to replace the now crimson, sodden bandage.

"It's alright…let me help you" Sam continued gently, startled when Dean launched himself at him, fists and feet flying everywhere, but far too weak to cause any real damage to Sam who found himself raising his voice.

"Dean! Dean stop it!" And even as his arms wrapped around his older brother's chest and his well muscled legs settled over Dean's atrophied weaker ones, Sam tried to wonder whether this was good or bad. Good, he decided, as Dean, pinned and helpless against Sam's larger form, finally stopped thrashing.

"It's okay. It's okay I'm here now. You're safe…" Sam muttered the words like a mantra into Dean's ear as he cradled the older Winchester. It was only as he paused speaking to blink tears out of his eyes that he realised Dean had set up a mantra of his own. Dean was talking! Sam strained to hear the barely whispered words and felt his heart break when he heard the mumbled stream of Latin. The constant, desperate repetition of exorcisms, protection charms and prayers that he _knew _wouldn't have done shit for Dean in Hell.

What _had _his brother gone through? Sam wasn't even sure he could handle knowing.

* * *

The seventh day, Sam woke in the same position with Dean, now silent, slumped in his arms.

On the seventh day, Sam began to hope that maybe Dean wasn't lost to him forever

On the seventh day, Sam thought it might be okay to leave Dean alone for thirty seconds while he nipped to the impala for the first aid kit. When he returned, he found Dean slicing into his wounded arm with a razor bade Sam hadn't thought to remove from the bathroom.

On the seventh day, as he re-bandaged his brother's mutilated arm, Sam himself wanted to scream for two days, just like Dean had done.

It took Sam Winchester seven days to realise he couldn't deal with this alone.

* * *

**AN: So future chapters will be longer and hopefully better. This will also be posted on my LJ (which you can find through my profile on this site)** **if you prefer that site to here. I hope it wasn't too bad and I haven't annoyed you all with my rambling.**

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

For the first time in a long while, Sam wished that his Dad were there. Dad would have known how to reach Dean. Dad would have known how to help...Dad would have at least been able to get Dean out of the corner!

"Dean come on" Sam coaxed, staying back a little further than last time in case the elder Winchester decided to spring again. "We're gonna get out of here, go for a drive."

Sam fought to keep his voice optimistic, even if the sight in front of him made him want to throw up. Dean was huddled in the corner (where he spent most of his time) and still shivering despite the two duvets Sam had wrapped round him. And, as Sam gingerly reached a hand forward to clasp his brother's own and brushed the freezing, goose-pimpled skin of Dean's non-bandaged arm, he wasn't surprised –Dean's skin was like ice. On the plus side, he was ridiculously pleased to feel Dean's fingers curl round his hand in response, although, with his own fingers pressing against wrist, he could feel Dean's now racing pulse.

"Nothing to be scared of" Sam soothed as he pulled Dean to his shaky feet. it bothered him how much fear there was in his brother's gaze. Not to mention how those fear filled eyes hadn't made contact with Sam's own. Still, at least he wasn't screaming.

"Let's get out of here, huh?" Sam smiled, once again forcing that cheerfulness into his tone, wondering if it made a difference, wondering if Dean could even _understand_. He watched as Dean's eyes flickered to the discarded blankets and he frowned. "You want to take those with you?"

He couldn't be sure if Dean had nodded or if he'd just imagined it (wishful thinking?) but he scooped the blankets up anyway wondering if he should feel guilty about stealing from the motel and then shrugging. _Fuck it_. Dean came first now.

He kept a hold of Dean's hand as he led him into the parking lot, not bothering to check out of the motel.

"I hope you don't mind if I do the driving for a little while?" Sam smiled as he plucked the keys out of his pocket. Dean simply carried on shivering and Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"You'd have got that once" he sighed sadly before plastering that inane smile back on his face. "Actually, you probably wouldn't have found it funny then either" Sam admitted with a shrug, opening the passenger door and half-encouraging, half-physically manipulating Dean into the seat.

Sam made sure Dean couldn't open the door from the inside before walking round and slipping into the driver's seat.

"See?" the younger brother blinked back tears as he bundled the duvets into the back seat and fastened Dean's seatbelt, "I took care of the car for you" Sam felt his voice break and didn't care "Just like you asked me to."

Dean didn't even react and Sam simply watched as his brother traced the pattern of a Devil's Trap against the glove compartment with his index finger as vacantly as someone might doodle whilst on the phone.

"Huh…" Sam turned his eyes forward as he started the ignition, "You'll thank me later."

_I hope…_

The journey took them far longer than it should have done. Dean, who was seemingly constantly thirsty, had managed to down about six bottles of water meaning Sam, not taking any chances, stopped at every rest-stop along the way. Then there was the disastrous event where Sam tried playing one of Dean's cassettes to jog his memory and the loud, screaming music had terrified the older Winchester so much Sam had been sure Dean would have thrown himself out of the car onto the asphalt if he could have done. He'd spent half an hour trying to calm Dean down and had eventually given up on that and just slipped a sedative into Dean's water. Even when Sam _finally_ arrived at the turnoff to the Singer Salvage Yard he found himself pulling into a lay-by instead of following the road. Bobby was going to want answers. Answers that Sam didn't want to give just yet. Didn't want to give…ever. And what would Dean think if…when he came back to his senses? He wouldn't want Bobby seeing him as the traumatised, helpless shell he'd become.

"Dean, I'm sorry" Sam sighed, wincing when Dean flinched from the hand Sam tried to put on his shoulder. "I…" The younger Winchester trailed off, wanting to yell, to shout, to _scream_ at the unfairness of it all. Instead, the hunter settled for taking a deep, shaky breath and shaking his head.

"I'm just trying to do what's best for you, Dean" he sighed before trying and failing to make eye contact with his anxious brother. "Just trying to do what's best…" he repeated sadly, "I want my brother back."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

It wasn't until Sam set eyes on Bobby that he realised just _how _much he had wanted to see the hunter. How much he had _needed _to see the hunter. And then, as he watched Bobby's face morph through an almost complete spectrum of emotions, he realised…maybe it would have been a good idea to call first.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice was questioning, wary, confused, pleading and every tone in between and Sam quickly stepped out of the car, keeping half his eye on his brother who sat motionless in the passenger seat.

"Bobby" Sam smiled weakly, not really sure what to say in this sort of situation

_Oh yeah, I resurrected my brother from the depths of Hell, now he's fucked up beyond belief and I may have just let another few hundred thousand demons out into our dimension…how's it going?_

"Bobby… I - We need your help."

* * *

Sam could feel himself scowling and he hated himself for it. What kind of brother was he to be resentful of Dean's recovery? So what if Bobby had managed to get Dean to eat after only five minutes of trying whereas Sam had only been able to leave food lying around because Dean wouldn't let him get close enough to give him a proper meal? So what if Dean sat happily next to Bobby on the sofa instead of hiding in a corner like he had in Sam's company? So what if Dean apparently didn't give a shit about the brother who had resurrected him from the depths of Hell?

_That's not fair, Sam. Dean's sick he can't help it._

But Sam was exhausted and common sense had no place in the emotional wreck of his mind.

"Dean!"

Both Dean and Bobby looked up at the sound of his voice which came out far harsher than he intended. What the heck was he doing anyway? Trying to _force _Dean to feel safe around him?

_Nice logic there, Sammy…_

"Sam?" Bobby was frowning at him and Sam felt those eyes boring into him. Dean was leaning behind Bobby as if trying to hide and Sam wanted to scream.

"_**I **__looked after you! __**I **__saved you! __**I **__deserve your trust!"_

Instead he found himself fumbling for an excuse and coming up with jack.

"Nothing…" he mumbled, looking anywhere but at Dean and Bobby.

"Sam…" Bobby paused, glancing at Dean before getting up off the couch. "You need some rest."

That sure as Hell was true but, after months and months without Dean, Sam was more than reluctant to leave his brother's side.

"I-"

"Dean will be fine for a few hours without you" Bobby continued with a wry smile, as if reading Sam's mind.

Sam didn't smile back as the image of Dean hacking away into his arm with a razor shot through his brain. God this was too much. Way too much.

"Sam. Sleep. Now." Sam felt like a child as Bobby pointed to the stairs, a no-nonsense look on his face and he just didn't have the energy to put up a fight. A few hours _without _the responsibility of looking after Dean did sounds appealing.

"Okay…okay…" The younger man finally surrendered, giving one last look towards his brother before making his way upstairs and collapsing onto the bed.

* * *

Bobby was as confused as Hell and Sam's rushed explanation as they had bundled Dean into the house hadn't helped much. It was still near impossible to wrap his head around the fact that Dean was back. After eight long months of knowing the boy he thought of like a son was being tortured every minute of every day…Dean was back.

_At what cost? _A voice in his head protested but Bobby ignored it. His main concern had to be Dean who seemed a little brighter now that Sam had left the room.

"How you doing, Kid?"

God it _hurt _to see Dean like this – silent and terrified. There was no cocky swagger, no smartass remark. Even Dean Winchester couldn't just bounce back from eight months of torture. Was Dean still even in there?

"Do you know who I am?"

Dean simply stared. Blinked. Licked his lips once.

"Christo?"

There's no venom behind the whispered word but it breaks Bobby's heart nonetheless.

"I'm not a demon" he speaks slowly, "You're out of Hell now, you understand that?"

Dean simply looked away again and Bobby knew he wasn't getting a reply. Still, the fact that Dean could even remember the word 'Christo' suggested he was still in there. Somewhere trapped amongst the endless memories of fear and agony was Dean Winchester, it was just going to take some time to find him and they had plenty of that.

…Didn't they?


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Graphic references to torture in this chapter.**

**

* * *

  
**

Dean bit through his lower lip to try and stop the screams that threatened to tear from his throat.

_Don't scream, they'll find you if you scream. Keep quiet, keep safe…but it __**hurts**__! _

How can he be in this much pain and not be dead? Oh yeah…he **is **dead. That's funny, is that funny? No, it's not funny, it hurts and he can't stop it hurting and how can anything hurt so much?

The scream tore out of Dean's throat before he could stop it and he bolted upright, his chest heaving. It was only then that he noticed he wasn't chained up or strapped to the rack but he couldn't bring himself to dredge up even a glimmer of hope at the thought. Dean Winchester didn't have any 'hope' left in him, he was hollow, empty; his hope bled and torn and gouged out of him. Not a hope in hell...that's funny.

Dean laughed then- a hysterical, sobbing hiccup of laughter before flinching away from his own noise and pressing himself against the wall. Wait, there was a wall? Dean flinched away from that then hunching over on himself and hugging his knees. The young man squeezed his eyes shut, chanting in useless Latin under his breath and rocking minutely to try and drown out the feeling of the empty darkness all around him, pressing on him, suffocating him – oh god, what was out there in the darkness this time?!

"Dean?"

_**No! **__Please no..._

Dean kept his eyes squeezed shut, increasing the pace of his chanting as he rocked faster. If he couldn't see, couldn't hear couldn't...couldn't feel, then no one could hurt him. Just...just for a day or so, a day or so without pain...._please?_

But if he didn't hurt and he didn't feel then was he alive? Well of course he wasn't but if he was dead then how could he be in so much pain? It didn't make sense but he was scared, scared, **scared** and he didn't want to open his eyes ever again.

Dean heard footsteps approaching and tensed himself for the inevitable crackle of power and the chains that would hook into his skin, yanking him into a spread-eagled position in the middle of nowhere so he couldn't hide his body from...Them. Maybe he'd be lucky and only one of his limbs would dislocate this time? Maybe just his arms? If it was just his shoulders he could stagger away afterwards, stagger off to some new nightmare....

"Dean?"

Dean cringed away from the hand gingerly touching his shoulder but if he wanted to actually **move **then that would mean uncurling from his tight little ball of fear and he wasn't doing that. No Sir, no way. Let them rip him open as usual, he was going to enjoy the blissful feeling of having control of his limbs, of having **circulation **in his limbs for these precious few seconds – it was a rare treat after all.

"Dean son, what are you doing in the corner?"

_Why, I'm rotting in hell, of course_.

Dean didn't even know where these thoughts were coming from. He couldn't remember a time when his every thought had been about pain and torture – of how much everything hurt, of how he could avoid it, of when the next session was coming, of how it could be gone in an instant and back twice as quick, of what had he done to deserve it, of why, _why_, _**why**_?

"Can you look at me?"

Dean lip twitches, a twisted, broken version of a smirk. Look? No, he's covered that already - not looking, not looking, not looking, don't want to look, not gonna look, not gonna see, not gonna make it real.

"It's Bobby, Bobby Singer."

Bobby Singer? What kind of name was that for a demon? It was Dean that did the 'singing', Lillith loved to make him 'sing' as she sliced and crushed him. Probably some low level demon come to get his piece of meat, pound of flesh, ounce of Dean... Dean doesn't know what he's done to all these demons to make them love to hurt him so badly but he's sorry...he's sorry, he's sorry!

"Ignosce mihi, quaeso..."

"Nothing to be sorry about," the demon tells him and Dean's surprised the thing is even listening to him. Should he beg? They like it when he begs. Sometimes when he begs they kill him quick and don't bring him back so soon. Or they say they do and they must do because sometimes when he comes back all healed he's right where he was before and sometimes he's somewhere else, sometimes he's not even healed at all because some demons just can't wait until he wakes up to get started on him.

"Let's get you off the floor, huh?" The demon mocks, it's voice deceptively gentle. Off the floor onto the rack? Of the floor, hanging suspended by his own flesh, tiptoes on the floor because if he lets those chains take his weight they'll rip his arms from his body? Off the floor, burning on the ceiling?

Dean jolts at that, clutching his head as an actually coherent thought makes its way into his shattered mind.

"Fire..." he gasps as he's assaulted by...memory? Illusion? What the fuck is happening to him?

"Fire?" The demon echoes and Dean's memory is drowned under a tide of fear. He hates being burned, hates the way the pain builds and escalates past the point of pain into blistering white hot agony as skin bubbles and sears and tears and why did he have to give the fucking thing **that **idea?

"No fire here, Dean," it continues and Dean just shudders, too exhausted to understand what the demon is saying, it's hard to follow any kind of conversation now, he's too used to just getting slashed apart halfway through a sentence to be able to pay attention to the actual words. Like it even matters, whatever anyone says to him it won't change the fact that tomorrow will just be another day of hellish brutality, just like it has been for as long as he can remember...


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Sorry for the slow updates and short chapters with this fic. I have to be in a very wierd mood to get into Dean's head in this story and it's not easy!

**Chapter 4**

Bobby watched, heartbroken as Dean curled up under the duvet, pulling the covers over him like a frightened child. Where there should have been a cocky, arrogant young man was instead a quaking, blanket-covered lump and Bobby had no idea how to fix that. This wasn't something that could be solved with a cold beer, a clap on the back and a 'you'll be alright, son'. As much as it pained the hunter to admit it, this was way out of his league.

"Oh God..."

Bobby turned at the sound of a soft sigh and winced as he set eyes upon the youngest Winchester boy, flinching from the weary anguish in the boy's eyes.

"I thought..." Sam swallowed heavily as he made his way across the sparse room towards the trembling, duvet covered wreck that was his brother.

"I thought he was getting better... "

The boy sounded close to tears and Bobby fumbled for words, tentatively reaching out a comforting hand before drawing it back and running it through his hair instead, letting out a heaving sigh as he did so.

"Come on now..." he soothed, sounding pathetic even to himself. "We got him to eat, right? That's something," he offered, as if anything he said would make the sight before them any less horrifying.

"God, Bobby..." Sam sighed again, perching at the edge of the bed. One of his hands hovered inches above the lump in the duvet as tentatively as though it were over an open flame.

Bobby sighed, feeling Sam's weariness as though it were his own. Even imagining what the kid must have been through this last week...hell, these last _months_ was enough to bring him to the brink of his sanity.

"How the hell did you get him out?" the old hunter sighed, rubbing a hand across his creased brow as he spoke the question that had burned in his mind ever since the two Winchesters had arrived at his home.

Sam stood up abruptly at that, the pain in his eyes worsening although Bobby would have sworn that wasn't possible if he hadn't seen it for himself.

"I dragged him out," the young man replied hollowly. "I reached into Hell and I dragged him out."

"You _what_?" Bobby exclaimed.

"Kicking and screaming..." Sam continued in a monotone, "I dragged him all the way back up from the depths..."

"Sam, _what _are you talking about?" Bobby asked, a feeling of cold dread spreading through his body as he listened to Sam talk, his well honed hunter's sense telling him that something was very, very wrong here.

"I think...maybe it's best if you don't know for now..." Sam responded numbly, his eyes staring vacantly ahead into his memories and Bobby could only nod dumbly, still reeling from the sense of foreboding surrounding the conversation.

"He-he's here now," Sam stammered, shaking his head as if to clear out the darkness. "He's here now and that's all that matters."

Well that was the most unconvincing lie Bobby Singer had ever heard but there'd be time to question it later when Dean wasn't nearly suffocating himself under a duvet.

"Let's just focus on that for now then," Bobby tried to sound casual as he replied but the fake smile he attempted barely even touched his lips, let alone reached his eyes.

"It'll be nearly time to change his bandage," Sam agreed solemnly and Bobby frowned softly.

"Bandage?" he echoed and Sam nodded before gesturing to the bed and shrugging helplessly.

"Has he been like this long?" Sam asked as he gingerly placed a hand on the bed, the resignation in the young man's voice was heartbreaking to hear and once again Bobby was rendered near-speechless, simply shaking his head as he tried to force some kind of reply out of his useless throat.

"Not long," he managed to strangle out, trying and failing to stop dwelling on the horrificness of exactly _what _Sam was asking.

_So how long has my petrified older brother been cowering and whimpering under a blanket afraid of just about fucking everything?_

The elder hunter felt something of a spare part as he watched Sam gingerly peeling back the duvet. Well screw that – Bobby Singer was never 'useless'.

"Should I, you know, block the exits?" He asked, hating how pathetic he sounded.

Sam just shook his head sadly in response and Bobby cursed to himself – the kid was probably too out of it to even recognise a door when he saw one!

"No point," Sam responded bleakly and Bobby nodded.

Dean gave a hitching breath as Sam tried to pry the blanket out of his trembling hands and Bobby moved in to help, grateful to finally have something to do.

Dean was mumbling incoherently as he tried weakly to fight them and Bobby caught only snatches of the begging, actually grateful for once that his hearing wasn't as good as it used to be. It should be wisecrack after wisecrack coming out of Dean Winchester's mouth, not these broken, hopeless pleas for mercy.

"Can you pass me some clean gauze?" Sam asked as he bundled the duvet off the bed, away from Dean's reach but Bobby could only stare at the unnerving sight before him, too shocked by the scene to follow any kind of instruction.

Dean was hunched up at the end of the bed, his back pressing into the bedhead so hard that there would probably be bruises there in the morning. His eyes were clenched tightly shut, hands clamped over his ears and his mouth forming a silent litany of fear.

It just wasn't _right_! Bobby seethed, clenching his fists.

"It's in the bag," Sam spoke up again, a hint of annoyance in his tone and his stare and Bobby scrambled to obey, too relieved to have an excuse not to look at Dean for a moment to be annoyed with himself for being so useless.

He wanted to believe that when he looked up from searching in the duffel bag, that things would be different. Dean would be reclining on the bed, a lazy smirk on his face as Sam tried to cajole him into researching. He wanted to believe it so badly that he almost _did _and, when he pulled himself upright again, he had to bite back a sob.

_Christ sake Singer, pull yourself together_, he ordered himself, passing Sam the roll of bandages and perching on the bed beside the young man.

"Can you hold him while I take off the old dressing?" Sam asked and Bobby nodded determinedly, reaching out for Dean's hand. The young man's forearm was swathed in a layer after layer of gauze, far too many really but Bobby wasn't going to criticise Sam's triage skills, he wasn't John after all. No, there was no wonder things were a little less than perfect when you looked at the patient...

Dean's wrist, when Bobby gripped it, was sickeningly bony, and the hunter's big hand wrapped round it with ease. He had to pry Dean's arms away from his head but the young man had none of his old strength – it was almost heartbreaking how little resistance he had to Bobby's manipulations.

The kid was sobbing, the weak, helpless sobs of a man who knows he is truly without hope and Bobby looked away from the boy's tears, focussing instead on the almost hypnotic unravelling of layer after layer of bandage. He watched, with a now familiar feeling of dread as the under layers began to change colour, stained a light brown, to pink, to a vibrant, dripping crimson and, as the final layer was pulled away, he realised why.

And with that, Bobby Singer came to understand that, when he thought he'd seen the most horrific thing possible..he'd really only been scratching the surface.

_Now_, he realised, exactly the odds they were up against if they wanted to find Dean Winchester in this broken shell of a man.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

Dean was wrapped in layer upon layer of blankets, sleeping fitfully on the couch as Bobby and Sam sat at the kitchen table, coffee mugs in hand.

"That wound needs stitching," Bobby announced, nodding towards Dean. He was stating the obvious but Sam was quiet...too quiet and if Bobby had to drag the information out of him then so be it. They were in _his _house after all, he had a right to know what was going on under his own roof.

"_You _try getting near him with a needle!" Sam snapped back. "I know that! I can't hold him still _and _stitch him up, can I?"

Bobby frowned at that tone. "No but you can drop that attitude, _boy_," the final word was almost a growl and Bobby was pleased for a split second to note that Sam immediately stopped glaring. But in its wake was a look of weary despair so crushing that Bobby immediately felt guilty.

"Aw jeez, Sam I'm sorry, you're having-"

"No no _I'm _sorry, Bobby," Sam sighed rubbing wearily at his face. "I don't mean to snap I just...It's bleeding and he-he sees the needle and freaks out, I just keep bandaging it up but...it won't stop bleeding, it's been a week and it won't stop bleeding."

Sam's tone was rising in pitch as volume as he spoke and Bobby immediately recognised the kid's anxiety.

"I...it won't stop bleeding, Bobby. It's been a week and it won't stop-"

"Alright, Sam. It's alright." Bobby interrupted Sam's agitated explanation. "There's two of us now, so we can sort it."

Bobby figured that he must have sounded more confident than he felt because Sam seemed to relax a fraction, nodding shakily and taking a steadying sip of his coffee.

"I can't understand it...it's not, it doesn't make sense."

"You pulled the kid out of _Hell, _Sam, hardly anything about this 'makes sense'," Bobby muttered and he watched as Sam immediately averted his eyes.

"Sam. I'm gonna ask you again and I want an answer or you're _out _of my house. _How _did you get your brother out of the pit?"

Sam stood up abruptly, pushing his chair angrily to the side. "I-I told you, I dragged him out. He's safe, he's here, that's all that-"

"_Sam?_" Bobby 's tone was threateningly serious, forced past the lump in his throat.

Sam was shaking his head, looking anywhere but in Bobby's eyes. Bobby found himself reminded of little Sammy, squirming after he'd taken too many cookies from the jar, of teenage Sammy, pouting and sulking guiltily through another one of Dad's lectures. Bobby cast his mind back and craved the normalcy of those days...

"I found a spell...magic...dark magic. I-I used it," Sam stammered out before turning on his heels and beginning to pace agitatedly. "Look, it's doesn't matter how, I've dealt with all that. I just, I just need some help with..._this_!" the hunter finished gesturing at Dean before breaking into a series of sobs.

Bobby paled as he finally watched Sam break down in front of him, the kid sinking to his knees in his despair, wailing into his hands.

Bobby searched his brain for words of comfort but everywhere he went in his mind all he could see was Dean's broken, terrified shell. And dammit, Sam wasn't dumb or desperate enough take any comfort from hollow, empty promises, never really had been. With that in mind, Bobby moved from the bed and sunk to his knees beside Sam, offering a silent embrace of comfort, the only thing he really had to offer at all in this situation.

* * *

Sam had sobbed for nearly an hour and Bobby's shirt was damp with tears. Dean had pushed himself into a corner of the room, frightened by the raised voices and Bobby downed the remainder of his cold coffee to steel himself for the confrontation with Dean.

"Hey kiddo, that don't look too comfortable," Bobby jokes like this is an amusing, everyday situation, not a horrifying demonstration of Dean's shattered psyche.

Bobby sinks to his knees as he approaches Dean's huddled form even though Dean can't see him. The kid had his arms curled over his head, his face buried in his knees. Bobby could see him trembling even from three feet away.

"Dean..." he called out gently. Dean's breath hitched and Bobby took that as a sign that the guy had heard him.

"Hey, it's Bobby, can you look at me?"

Bobby watched as Dean's head tilted and one eye peered out from the protective cocoon of his arms. Bobby could've cheered but settled instead for just grinning like an idiot.

"That's it, that's good, why don't we get off the floor and out of this corner, huh?"

God damn -Dean, the 'normal' Dean, would be so pissed off if he knew Bobby was patronising him like this but Bobby didn't see what choice he has other than to treat the kid like the frightened, wounded animal he was imitating.

Dean flinched from Bobby's hand as the hunter reached to touch him but he didn't resist and Bobby grunted as he pulled the man upright. It was hard as it should have been, as it _had _been in the past when Bobby had dragged Dean's unconscious body onto the couch more times than he cared to remember. No, Dean was way too thin and as Bobby led the man back to the couch he figured they'd start with that first.

Dean immediately sank into the sofa, hunching himself back up into a ball but keeping his head up this time and staring at Bobby with confusion but not fear. Bobby took that as a good sign, hell, he _had _to keep focussing on the positives, as insignificant as they might seem to an outsider or he'd end up a wreck like Sam was right now.

It was startling how different Dean seemed when Sam wasn't in the room. He was hardly back to his old self of course, but he was at least coherent and not half-mad with fear.

"You hungry, kiddo?" Bobby asked, searching to make eye-contact with the traumatised boy on his couch.

"Do you want something to eat?" he tried again, speaking slowly and clearly so that he might get a response this time. Well, he didn't get anything from Dean per say but the kid's stomach growled loud enough to let Bobby know that, yep, Dean _was _hungry.

"Closest thing I'm going to get to a reply today, ain't it boy?" Bobby sighed sadly as he made his way back to the kitchen and then immediately felt guilty for patronising the kid.

Kid's been down in the pit for eight months, Singer, he chastised himself, cut him some slack.

Bobby scowled as he scanned his barren cupboards and sparse fridge. Unless the kid wanted steak and beer he hadn't much else going. Shrugging, Bobby reached for the rest of the crackers he'd given Dean last night, he'd stock up on 'proper' food later. It wasn't like he'd had much of an appetite these last eight months knowing Dean was in Hell.

"Sorry, still not a cheeseburger," Bobby joked, receiving the same blank stare he'd got last time. Dean just stared warily at him as he reached tentatively for the packet.

Dean's fingers, when they brushed against Bobby's own, were freezing and Bobby frowned, pressing his hand gently on Dean's forearm.

"Damnit boy, you're a few degrees short of an icicle," Bobby cursed softly. He kept half an eye on Dean as he nipped out to the entranceway, grabbing his heaviest, fleeciest jacket. Dean barely flinched as Bobby draped the garment over his slender shoulders but, as bobby stepped back, he wrapped the jacket tightly around him, the crackers slipping from his hand in his haste for warmth.

Bobby just looked at the once strong hunter currently huddled wordlessly into a jacket that swamped his malnourished frame and shook his head. There was a way out of his, a light at the end of the tunnel, he damned as hell couldn't see it but he had to believe it was there. For the sake of the Winchester boys and his own santy he _had _to believe things could get better than this.

* * *

**AN: The layout of Bobby's house has changed so much through the series that I decided to just lay it out how I wanted to! **


End file.
